Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/437727.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Drarry_-_Relationship
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Blaise_Zabini, Ron_Weasley, Hermione_Granger,
      Astoria_Greengrass, Scorpius_Malfoy, Ginny_Weasley, Vincent_Crabbe,
      Gregory_Goyle
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-18 Words: 10201
****** It Starts and Ends with Firewhiskey ******
by teamrocket
Summary
     When Draco sees his son Scorpius off at the train station on his
     first day of school, his eyes meet Harry's. He goes home and reflects
     about their history together.
Notes
     This originally started out as a sentence from a Scorpius/James
     fanfiction that I'm writing, and turned into, well, this. I am not
     sorry. Heavily based on canon.
 Returning to King's Cross was nostalgic. The ruckus of young, excited kids
chasing each other and eagerly showing off their new wands, mums fussing over
their children, and the muggles pointing at the slew of families "wearing cult-
like garments" with their carts laden with trunks, broomsticks, and owls
perching in their cages – Draco smiled fondly at it all, reminiscing about his
first time. It had been exactly thirty-six years ago.
Now it was his son's turn to live it. Draco ruffled Scorpius's white-blond hair
and patted him on the back. He beamed fondly at his son, who was chattering
away, eager and excited to start school.
Draco turned around, and the smile froze on his face, the corners turning down
so that it resembled a cross between what it originally was and a grimace. His
gray eyes met a pair of green that he would know anywhere. Suddenly, the train
station was too loud and stuffy; he couldn't wait to leave.
He gave Potter a stiff nod and quickly turned back around. Scorpius had already
run off, leaving him alone with Astoria. There was no love in their marriage;
it had been an arranged one. Living together was agreeable, although Draco
couldn't imagine how much emptier it would be around the manor now that
Scorpius was at school.
They waited to wave at Scorpius as the train pulled away from the station
before Apparating away. Yet, for Draco, it was already five minutes too late.
                                       *
The next day, Draco sat alone in his office, thinking. Astoria was out; Draco
didn't want to know where, doing what or whom. One arm gripped the side of the
leather armchair while the other propped his head up. In his thoughts, he
wandered back to year three.
                                       ~
It was difficult for him to come to terms with his sexuality. He first noticed
it at thirteen during Quidditch. His eyes lingered on his male teammates and
other Houses' alike. He had to tear his eyes away, mentally scolding himself.
Stop that! Malfoys can't be gay! I'm not gay. I'm just jealous of their bodies,
which I have no reason to be – I'm a Malfoy, he unsuccessfully tried to
convince himself.
Worst of all was Potter. Fucking Potter. Oh, Salazar, he wanted – No! He wanted
to... Damn him! He couldn't keep his eyes off him, and his imagination often
ran wild with him. He wanted to feel that dark unruly hair underneath his
fingers, gaze into those deep green eyes of his, and taste the pumpkin juice
fresh on his lips. And he hated himself so much for it.
Even worse, he hated Potter. It was his fault he was like this. It was his
fault he tempted him so much. It was his fault that he drifted into his head
every time he wanked, despite the futile attempts that he made to picture the
centerfolds from the Witchhouse magazines that Goyle smuggled in.
 The young Malfoy's fingers furiously slid up and down his length.  Fucking
Potter , he thought angrily at the image of the Gryffindor taking his shirt off
that would not  go .  AWAY ! He groaned, jerking one last time before his penis
erupted, and cum splattered all over his chest.
There was one time, during a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor,
where he and Potter had been neck in neck, chasing after the snitch. He could
feel Harry's breath, taste his scent in the air around them...
Draco's fingers reached out to grasp the snitch...and he fumbled. It slipped
out from under his fingers, and Potter easily grabbed it. Draco had been
humiliated.
In DADA, the boggart had transformed into a closet, shuddering as it hit the
floor. Draco flushed with pain and shame, fearing that none of his classmates
would figure it out, but they all seemed perplexed. Only Lupin seemed to figure
it out – Draco could see it in his eyes – and the dislike he felt towards the
professor turned to hate.
He tried flirting back at Pansy, but he felt indifference towards her. Still,
he forced those smiles on his face and his fingers on her hair, tucking a stray
piece behind her ear. It wasn't that girls were repugnant; they just didn't
have the same allure for him that all his friends had. He mentally beat into
himself, punishing his brain for not letting him be straight. He was miserable.
                                       ~
Year four was a bit different. Potter had to, of course, be special and have
himself chosen as one of the Hogwarts champions in the Triwizard Cup. Draco was
one of the ringleaders in rallying against him, distributing the flashing pins
that switched between “Support Cedric Diggory, the Real Hogwarts Champion” and
“Potter Stinks.”
 Draco had been goading him one afternoon, tailing him as he walked into an
empty corridor. Potter had suddenly cornered him, shoving him against the wall
and jerking him by the shirt.
“Piss off, Malfoy,” he hissed menacingly. Draco looked into his eyes, catching
his breath. They were so close, their noses almost touching. Draco could taste
the Gryffindor's breath. He could feel the boy's hair tickling his forehead.
Draco couldn't help it; he kissed him, closing the short distance between their
mouths.
 The Gryffindor's lips were as soft as he'd imagined them. Their tongues slid
past each other, and Harry's hand was entangled in his hair; he was kissing him
back! He was pressing back, cupping Draco's cheek, melting into him. The
Slytherin was enveloped in Harry, and he craved more. Draco's eyes suddenly
flew open, and he shoved the boy off of him, breaking the kiss. Harry –  no ,
Potter – gave him a confused look. Draco looked at him, wide-eyed, with an
inkling of fear in his gray eyes. They stared at each other wordlessly for a
second before Draco pushed past the Gryffindor and scurried down the corridor.
He spent the next couple of days going out of his way to avoid Harry, taking
the long routes to class and flying out of his seat as soon as the bell rang in
the classes that they had together. It didn't take long for Harry to chase him
down, however.
Harry pressed him against the wall outside an abandoned classroom so he
couldn't escape. “Why'd you kiss me?” he demanded.
“I'm not gay,” Draco blurted out. Harry raised an eyebrow.
 “The hell you aren't!  You kissed me, remember?”
“I know, but...I'm not gay,” he repeated himself, his face sagging in defeat.
Harry studied him, his green eyes penetrating into Draco's.
 “That's too bad,” he murmured softly into Draco's ear, his voice dropping an
octave, sending chills down the blonde's back, “because I  am .” Harry pressed
his mouth against his, and Draco's knees almost gave out as he was taken aback
in surprise. If the last kiss, the  first  kiss, was tentative and sweet, then
this one was rough and angry. Draco's hands were framing Harry's face, curling
up into loose balls.  His skin is so soft , he thought absentmindedly, getting
lightheaded, as he nibbled lightly on his lower lip.
They were both gasping for air when they finally broke apart. Harry's body was
still leaning against Draco's, their chests touching. Draco could feel his
heart beat against his. The only sound he could hear was their breaths and
Harry's pulse as they both steadied themselves.
“Are you still not gay?” Harry finally asked, his green eyes fixing on his
face. Draco gazed into them. They were so luminous, so entrancing. He realized
that he had lifted his hand up to Harry's face, brushing it lightly against his
cheek. Draco let out an awkward chuckle, expelling the breath that he hadn't
realized that he was holding.
He reached out and took Harry's face between his hands, his grip gentle but
firm. He pulled him in for another kiss, a more gentler kiss.
When they broke apart, Harry was grinning. “Well, I guess that answers that,”
he said, tracing Draco's jaw with his finger. Draco came to his senses and
jerked away.
“You can't tell anyone, Potter! Or else the -” His tongue tripped over the
words urgently tumbling out of his mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. Or else the Malfoy name will be at stake. That doesn't mean that I
can't still have you.” Draco shivered under the intensity of his eyes.
“We'll keep this under wraps, okay? If anyone finds out, then it's all over,
Potter.”
“We'll pretend like this never happened, and we'll still pretend to hate each
other in public,” Harry promised.
Draco curled up his lip. “Who's pretending?” Harry pursed his lips.
 “See if you can sneak away tomorrow during breakfast. We'll meet in that empty
classroom on the third floor near the Charms corridor.” Harry's sweet breath
was beckoning him. He shoved himself against the Gryffindor, catching him off
guard, and they tumbled onto the floor, with Draco on top. They remained on the
floor, looking at each other, exchanging breaths. Finally, Harry smirked.
“Are you sure you'll be able to last the night?” he teased. Draco flushed.
“Be quiet, Potter, and kiss me.”
                                       *
He had returned to the Slytherin common room grinning dopily, sinking into one
of the green leather sofas. Harry's scent was on him, and he could still smell
his hair, his skin, his clothes. He felt like that one time when he had
experimentally drank a glass of his father's Firewhiskey.
“Oi, Malfoy!” Zabini snapped his fingers in front of his face, trying to get
his attention. “What are you so happy about?” Draco blinked.
“Just imagining Potter being eaten by a dragon,” he quickly fibbed. The whole
school knew about the dragons by now, naturally; word traveled fast at
Hogwarts. The small cluster of Slytherins nodded, accepting his answer as a
viable one. Draco soon excused himself from the common room, realizing that he
wasn't going to be thinking about much except for Harry. He stared at the
rectangle of ceiling above his bed, not truly seeing it, as he thought of one
thing and one thing only.
He was 10 minutes late to Potions that day.
                                       ~
Draco gripped Harry's arm and ran down the empty hallway, laughing and pulling
the Gryffindor with him. Puffing for breath, he opened the door to an empty
classroom a crack, just wide enough for himself, and slid in, still keeping a
firm grip on Harry's arm. He heard the sound of Harry hitting his head against
the door and swearing. They had twenty minutes before Draco had to be down at
the Quidditch pitch.
Draco pushed Harry against the wall, their bodies colliding, and crushed his
lips against his. Draco could feel teeth biting, nibbling, grazinghis lips. His
hand snaked up to Harry's neck, and he weaved it in his hair. He poked his
tongue into Harry's mouth, it opening wider, and felt Harry's tongue grinding
against his.
Draco moaned, yanking Harry's hair, and ground his hips against the shorter
boy's. He felt the bulge in his pants start to stiffen, and he could feel
Harry's, too. His hand shot up the Gryffindor's shirt, pushing it up, and Harry
shuddered in response. Merlin. He felt his smooth, pale torso, the hard muscles
from Quidditch practice, tense. He needed to see them again.
Harry whimpered as Draco pulled his hips back, the Gryffindor thrusting
forward. Draco held him back more forcefully, the Gryffindor's shoulder blades
scraping against the wall. Quickly, he undid the buttons and slid the garment
off the other boy's arms, letting it fall to the ground.
Harry's pale chest seemed to radiate from the light shining in through the
window. Draco ran his hands down it, his nails raking lightly, and he felt the
other boy's muscles contract. The blonde planted his mouth on the other boy's
jaw, sucking at it, before sliding it downwards, causing Harry to groan. Heat
radiated from the Gryffindor's neck, and Draco felt the vibrations from under
his lips.
He left a trail of reddish-pink bite marks from Harry's neck to his collarbone,
his teeth raking across skin. Draco's tongue skimmed across the other boy's
firm pecs and stopped at the small pink bud. He smirked deviously and placed
his mouth over the Gryffindor's nipple, hovering close enough for Harry to feel
his warm breath, teasing the boy. Harry shuddered in anticipation of what was
to come.
Draco finally bridged the distance, pressing his mouth on the boy's chest,
causing Harry to jump. Grinning, he flicked his tongue against the pink bud
rapidly, savoring the loud moans of pleasure he elicited that escaped Harry's
mouth. Harry yanked several tufts of his blond hair, his eyes half-lidded.
Draco's mouth moved over to the other one and...
“Whoops, time for Quidditch. Too bad, eh, Potter?” Draco stood up, his mouth
twisted into a cruel smile. Harry toppled over and made a rude hand gesture.
“I'm sure you'll appreciate it, though, when we kick your ass on Saturday.”
Draco smoothed out the wrinkles from his shirt and patted down his hair.
“You're welcome to stop by in the locker room after Quidditch, though. I'll be
all sweaty and shirtless, and in need of a shower, but you'll just have to deal
with that, Potter,” he added as he sauntered out of the room. Draco smirked; he
could feel Harry's eyes boring into his backside. Damn, I amsogay.
                                       ~
They didn't get any further than passionate snogging and blowjobs that year.
However, year five was when they finally stopped beating around the bushes –
although those quick handjobs in random broom cupboards were pleasurable.
They had rendezvoused at the Room of Requirement at midnight around the
beginning of the year, and it had appeared with large windows almost as tall as
the room itself with the moon shining in. Somewhere in the back of Draco's
mind, he wondered if that meant that Harry had a slight exhibitionist kink.
Draco hastily shoved his shirt over his head and flung it across the room. He
ripped Harry's off his shoulder as the other boy bit into his lip, hungrily
kissing him with his hands all over Draco's pale face, grinding into each
other. The moonlight made the Slytherin look even paler and accented the
contrast between their hair colors, Draco's blond hair shining bright white and
Harry's an ebony blue.
A wide, king-sized bed appeared in the middle of the room, and they slowly
moved towards it, not looking up from their passionate snogging. Harry bent
backwards, lying on the bed with his legs dangling off the edge as Draco
hurriedly tore off the trousers that he wore underneath his robes; while many
still wore robes in the traditional sense, it was becoming fashionable to wear
trousers underneath.
Harry groaned, feeling Draco's quick hands pull off his boxer briefs. He felt
Draco's warm mouth on his dick and moaned as the other boy quickly undid his
own pants and slid them off. Draco climbed on top of him, roughly kissing him
and sliding Harry's body over so they fit better on the bed. He ground his hips
against the other boy's, their erections rubbing against each other. The
Slytherin moaned into Harry's mouth, biting his lower lip.
“Open your legs,” he ordered, his voice low and husky. Harry complied eagerly,
thrusting his pelvis upwards to allow Draco better access. Draco picked up the
small bottle of lube that appeared next to them on the bed, almost dropping it.
He wriggled a finger into Harry, sliding it in and out a couple of times before
adding another. Harry squirmed in pleasure, moaning. Draco pushed his fingers
in deeper, thrusting in and out, causing Harry to arch his back. A sort of
strangled squeak came out of his mouth.
“More, more,” he begged desperately, his voice causing Draco's dick to stiffen
even more. He added a third finger, eliciting short moans from Harry as he
reinserted his fingers. Draco did this with one hand while he applied lubricant
to his cock, his gray eyes half-lidded in pleasure as he watched Harry writhe
on the bed.
“Fuck, c'mon, oh,” Harry moaned, his voice rising half an octave on the last
word. Draco grunted in response and removed his fingers, positioning himself at
Harry's opening. He traced the rim slowly, teasingly. Harry squirmed and
thrusted towards him, whimpering in anticipation. The blonde smirked.
“No, no,” he said softly, his eyes glimmering mischievously, withdrawing
himself. Harry groaned in sexual agony.
 “Get on with it, you prat,” he begged. Draco enjoyed teasing him; he enjoyed
the game. Far too much, by the looks of it. Thankfully, for Harry, he wasn't
totally  heartless.
 Draco held onto Harry's hips and pressed forward, the tight ring of muscle
giving way. Draco stifled a moan. Fuck, Harry was so warm, so tight. Harry
gasped and gripped onto the sheets. Rocking his hips back and forth, Draco
slowly thrusted in and out at first.  Oh, Merlin's pants. Ohhhhh. Fuck.  He was
losing himself in incoherency.
 Draco couldn't form a thought to save his life. His mind was clouded up, hazy,
and he was lost in ecstasy. The sound of his –  boyfriend? Partner? –
whatever-he-was moaning registered in his head, but other than that, he was
physically incapable of noticing anything else. If the castle had chosen to
spontaneously combust right then, they would have continued on fucking, too
lost in each other to notice.
Harry's legs were hooked around Draco's arms, and they clenched and unclenched.
“Fuck Malfoy,” he groaned, his voice breathy and rough, “harder. Ooooh,
faster.” Draco's grip on his hips tightened, and he slid into him faster.
Merlin, he was totally unprepared for how it would feel, how his body squeezed
around him. And the heat, the pleasantly burning furnace. Oh, fuck. A low moan
escaped Draco's lips. His breathing grew ragged, and he clenched his jaw.
The faster he thrusted, the tighter it felt, like his cock was being milked. He
heard a distant string of moans and profanities but didn't make the connection
that they were coming out of his mouth. Harry's whole body was quivering, his
back arched high and one hand clenching the bedsheets while the other moving up
and down his shaft. Harry's toes were pointed, digging into the blonde's back.
Draco's hands slid downwards to Harry's arse, trembling, as he fought to keep
pushing forward, his strokes going deeper and deeper. His whole body was
unsteadily shivering, and he was on the brink of orgasm. Any minute now.
 Draco's vision blurred, patches of color dancing across his field of vision,
his brain sizzling white-hot. He pushed forward one last time, and his hips
tightened.  Oh!  He raggedly gasped, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth
stretched wide open. Harry made a strangled gurgle noise.
The Gryffindor tilted his hips up, warm thickness filling him up inside. His
cock twitched, and he came, warm, sticky whiteness squirting on Draco's chest,
mingling with the sweat. He gave Draco a hazy grin, his heart beating rapidly,
before collapsing backwards. There was an understood agreement between the two
that this would become a regular occurrence.
                                       ~
Harry had managed to slip Draco into the Gryffindor common room one night. It
had been the hardest shag session yet...no pun intended – well, okay, maybe a
little. The two had attempted to keep quiet to avoid waking Harry's roommates;
Draco's sharp whimpers sounded pitiful, and Harry had to bite down on Draco's
shoulder to stifle his screams. No matter how gently Harry tried to rock his
hips, the mattress creaked loudly, and once, Ron mumbled something in his
sleep, causing Harry and Draco to both freeze, with Harry's cock still buried
inside Draco.
They had collapsed on each other, weary, and fallen asleep naked, their legs
entwined. Draco groggily opened his eyes, his blond hair sticking up in all
directions, smelling strongly of sex. Harry had woken up before him and had
been silently tracing circles in his chest; Draco would have prodded him until
he woke up or poked him in the eye.
Harry smiled fondly at him. “Morning, sunshine. I was going to wake you up with
an early morning blowjob but considering how much you talk, I didn't think I
could count on you to shut your gob. Did I ever tell you how pale you are?”
Draco glowered at him. “And I had so many hopes for that sentence.” Harry
opened his mouth to reply, but then they heard a scuffle outside. The two
locked eyes in panic, frozen.
“Shit, shit,” Draco was the first to recover. “Quick, where's the invisibility
cloak?” They dug through several layers of clothes and blankets before finding
it. Draco tossed it on in the nick of time.
Ron pulled the curtains away. Harry quickly covered himself with his discarded
robe, wishing that he could dive under the sheets that Draco was sitting on. He
noticed that it was, in fact, Draco's robe and moved his hand to cover the
Slytherin crest, hoping that Ron didn't notice.
Thankfully, Ron was a bit preoccupied with something else. The red-head
scrunched up his nose .
“Oi!” he said loudly, “Have you been wanking? It smells like sex in here.”
Seamus and Dean turned around, sniggering, while Neville blushed, looking
embarrassed for him.
“Morning to you too,” Harry muttered, his cheeks taking on a rosy pink tinge.
“Just saying, mate. If you're going to wank, you should clean up after
yourself, eh? We'd understand. Thinking of Cho, eh?” Ron grinned knowingly
while Seamus and Dean made kissy-faces in the background. Harry threw a pillow
at him.
“I'll meet you guys in the Great Hall, okay? Go on without me; I have to get
dressed.” Draco waited anxiously for them to leave before pulling the
invisibility cloak off.
“Cho?” he asked flatly.
“Look, Draco, I swear, she's just a coverup for you. I had to fabricate excuses
on where I'd been when I was with you. Otherwise, Hermione would've figured it
out for sure.”
“It takes a lot to mislead Granger, Potter. How stupid do you think I am?”
“Draco, you can't honestly believe that I'd like her. She's just a beard.”
“A beard that you kiss and ask to the Yule Ball and go on silly dates with?”
Draco spat out, jealousy and betrayal clear in his voice. Harry threw his hands
up in frustration.
“I didn't go to the Yule Ball with her!”
“Only because she turned you down.” Draco was mad, but he was still careful not
to mention Cedric. Still, Harry's lips tightened.
“What about you and Pansy?! You looked like you were having such a swell time
with your hands all over her, your bodies pressed up against each other. In
case you didn't notice, I didn't dance with Parvati except for the mandatory
ones for Champions!”
“But I'm not the famous Boy Who Lived! I don't have people lining up, throwing
themselves at me, unless you count Pansy! You don't have to worry about what
I'm up to because, for me, there's only you! I'm no one special, but everyone
wants to be with you!” Draco shouted. He felt tears starting to well up. Harry
fell silent, and his anger wiped itself off his face. Draco heard Harry sigh.
“Oh, Draco,” he murmured, cradling the Slytherin to his bare chest. Draco
refused to look him in the eye. Harry held Draco silently for a moment, both of
them still naked.
“Listen, you're the only one for me, too. You don't have to worry about anyone
else. I've only got eyes for you.” He planted a kiss on the blonde's cheek and
buried his face into his hair.
“You're so pale,” he murmured. “It looks good on you. You're so cute, jealous,
you know that?” He tickled him under the chin and gave him a squeeze. Draco
twisted his head backwards to kiss Harry, his face upside-down. They sat there
for a moment before Draco spoke up.
“You know, I hated you,” he admitted. “I hated you because I couldn't stop
thinking about you; I couldn't stop wanting you. I blamed you for this. You
know, being gay and all.” Harry pondered this silently for a second, resting
his chin on Draco's shoulder.
“Well, what do you think now?” he finally asked.
“I think that I'm gay.” Draco realized that he'd never actually admitted it out
loud before. Harry chuckled.
“That, you are. Now, get out of my bed, you flaming homo, before I stop
resisting and take you.” Draco couldn't help but to sneak a glance at Harry's
cock, which was semi-erect against his leg. Harry grinned sheepishly.
Draco made sure to bend over as many times as possible as he put his clothes
on.
                                       ~
“What about next Wednesday, then, at nine?”
“Er, can't. I'm...” Harry hesitated, “busy.” Draco's eyes narrowed.
 “What have you been up to? Where do you disappear off to when you're  busy ?”
Harry had been making flimsy excuses for weeks, and he was sick of it.
“I can't tell you,” Harry squirmed guiltily. Draco whirled around, his gray
eyes blazing metal ice.
 “What do you mean,  you can't tell me ?! What are you keeping from me? What is
it you don't want me to know?!” he demanded.
 “Look, I just can't tell you because, you know... Umbridge . It's nothing
personal or anything.”
“Umbridge?! You think that just because I'm in her good books that I'd go
running to her, playing snitch?”
“I'm sorry, okay? I just can't,” Harry said quietly, which only fanned the
flames.
“Right. Well, good luck with that,” Draco spat out, feeling betrayed. He
slammed the door to the Room of Requirement on the way out.
                                       ~
Harry was absolutely livid with fury. Draco had never seen him so angry. He
knew once as the words left his mouth that what he had just said was
unforgivable. He deserved whatever came next.
He could see it in Harry's eyes that he was lost in anger. The Slytherin had
gone overboard in playing his role of hating Harry; he hadn't meant any of what
he said. He simply borrowed the popular opinions of his fellow Housemates and
used them as taunts. That was their arrangement since they'd began dating to
throw everyone off, only now, perhaps he'd just thrown Harry off. The
Gryffindor usually just asked him to perhaps lay off on his friends a little
bit, and Malfoy would comply, but he never minded when Draco insulted himself
until now.
Harry lunged at him, snarling primally, as well as one of the Weasel twins.
Draco lifted his hand up, shielding his face, and winced as they viciously beat
into him.
While he wouldn't lay a hand against Harry, he had no qualms against hurting
Twiddle Dee (or Twiddle Dum, whichever one he was). Draco's foot made contact
with the Weasley's face, kicking his lip and jaw.
Harry's fist caught him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him, and a
whimper escaped his mouth. He curled up in pain, and Harry's fist smashed into
his nose and then his jaw. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, kicking the Weasley
twin again, this time in the chest. He was vaguely aware of his mouth moving
and sound coming out of it; only afterward would he feel the raspy burning in
his throat.
There was a frenzy of people surrounding them, shouting, their voices sounding
distant to Draco. He felt the Weasley boy, who was unleashing a string of
profanities, being knocked backwards. Then, Harry. He let out an involuntary
groan.
He vaguely noticed Madame Pomfrey treating him, clicking her tongue and
muttering. Harry was gone, to receive his punishment, no doubt. Draco hoped
that however unlikely it would be, McGonagall would go easy on him. Fuck, what
was wrong with him, crossing the only line that Harry had drawn?
Dammit, Draco, you ruin everything for yourself. The Dark Lord can't even turn
Harry against you more than you just did yourself, he thought miserably. He was
overcome with guilt and remorse. Draco hated himself. He was the one who
deserved to be punished, not Harry.
Madame Pomfrey yanked him up roughly, and Draco was vaguely aware that Crabbe
was saying something to him. He nodded absentmindedly as they walked back to
the castle, with Crabbe prattling all the way there and Draco silently ripping
himself to shreds.
Love was complicated.
                                       *
Harry wouldn't so much even look at him after that. Draco later heard from
Montague that he had been slammed with a "lifelong Quidditch ban." Draco had
felt hollow when he heard those words. He wanted to hold his head in his hands
and cry, but of course, he couldn't. Instead, he forced a smile on his face and
faked delight. It was harder than pretending to be straight.
                                       *
They had passed each other in the hallway several weeks later. Harry looked
straight ahead, pretending to not even see him, but Draco could see the outline
of his lips tightening, squeezed into a flat line.
As they walked past each other, Draco quietly said, "I'm sorry." Harry
stiffened, and he sped up, taking brisk, long strides. Draco drew his lips up
in defeat.
                                       ~
Draco cursed mentally at Marietta, the stupid girl. They'd been given orders to
catch members of Harry's group, and Draco had volunteered to capture Potter. He
just wanted to talk to him; he'd turn him free afterward and claim that he
escaped through his fingers. Umbridge wouldn't like it, but he didn't care.
Draco squatted behind a vase on the way to the Gryffindor tower and waited. He
felt a bit guilty for snapping at Harry a couple months ago when he wouldn't
tell him what he was doing. If he had just told me what it was, I would've been
okay with it. I wouldn't have been Marietta; he could've trusted me, Draco
pouted, jutting out his lower lip. And then... Well, look where trustingyougot
him!
Harry raced past him then, and Draco mentally apologized for what he was about
to do. He flicked his wand, casting a Trip Jinx.
“Trip Jinx, Potter!” he called out, whooping. “Hey, Professor – PROFESSOR! I've
got one!” He crouched down beside Harry and grabbed his arm.
In a low voice, he said, “I'll let you go before Umbridge shows up if you just
hear me out. Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said, and I know I was
wrong. Just, forgive me, please?”
 Harry jerked his arm away and ignored him, setting his jaw tenaciously.
Draco's eyes traveled down his face and he shook his head, disappointed.
Salazar, he is so stubborn. I miss him so much.
 “Last chance, Potter. I'll let you go, no strings attached. Just give the
word.” Harry continued to ignore him, even after Umbridge showed up and took
him away. Draco never felt so alone.
                                       *
Draco joined the Inquisitorial Squad, not only because it was expected of him
and his father would hear of it if he decline, but also because if Harry was up
to something again – and Draco knew he was – then perhaps he'd have the
opportunity to cover for him. Also, he wanted to see if his absence was
affecting Harry at all, yet every time they ran into each other, Harry
pretended that there was never anything more between them, cutting Draco to the
core.
He sauntered up to him – flanked by Crabbe and Goyle – freshly inducted into
the Inquisitorial Squad. Harry was surrounded by a cluster of his friends, as
usual, with the regular speckled and mousy faces, as well as the doughy-faced
Hufflepuff. He twisted his mouth into a cold sneer; it didn't show, but the
facade was wearing him thin, and he had the strongest urge break down into
profusive apologies. His eyes bore into Harry, who, of course, ignored him.
 Malfoy began docking points from the cluster. “...Five because I don't like
you, Potter...” he added petulantly, his lower lip jutting out. It couldn't be
farther from the truth. He saw Harry almost snort, before catching himself,
like before whenever Draco was insulting him in public.  Please, chuckle.
Snort. Anything. Just give me a sign that you forgive me. Please , Malfoy
begged him silently, his eyes giving him a desperate look. Harry must have
recognized it because he turned his back. Fine. Be that way. The Slytherin's
eyes hardened.
“Be good now, Potty... Weasel King...” he tacked on, careful not to seem like
he was focusing on only Potter. Which he was. He strode off with Crabbe and
Goyle silently following him.
                                       ~
His sixth year was incredibly painful, being recruited as a Death Eater and
all. It wasn't like he had any choice in the matter; he had to do it for his
family. While he certainly wasn't a pro-Muggle activist, his own ideology
wasn't as radical as the Death Eaters', and he didn't have anything against
Dumbledore – at least, not enough to kill him – but he had to do it. It wasn't
his own life he was scared for; it was his mum and dad's.
He had attempted to play off of it at the beginning to try and regain some of
his lost popularity after his father was sent to Azkaban. Yet, at the end of
the day, he was just a tired and scared little boy in over his head.
He didn't have time to deal with Potter or anything that wasn't fulfilling his
mission. It was Dumbledore or his family, and that wasn't something that he was
willing to wager.
Potter, of course, caught on quickly that he was up to something. His tenacity,
what Draco originally found slightly endearing, was seriously irritating him.
The brunette had pulled him aside on the train.
“Listen, Draco, I know that things ended roughly for us,” he began.
“You don't say,” Draco said dryly.
“Anyway, what you did – I've moved on. I'm not saying that I forgive you, but
I'm putting it behind us, and well,” he trailed off, a bit unsure on how to
phrase things.
“Look, Potter, just say what you came to say. We both know this isn't a social
call. Otherwise, you would've waited.” The Gryffindor looked mildly annoyed; he
had obviously planned an overt presentation, possibly drafted by Granger. Draco
smirked at the thought; he wouldn't put it past him.
“Well,” he shuffled about uncomfortably, “listen, Draco. I know that perhaps
you're not willing to listen to a lecture from me of all people right now after
how we ended things and how I treated you.”
“Gee, this sounds promising,” Draco cut in.
“Just listen, okay? I know you're up to something, and I just want to say that
I know you're fundamentally a good person. You're not horrible; you know how to
make the right choices. Otherwise, I wouldn't have...you know...” They both
glanced around, making sure that no one was listening.
“Fundamentally a good person? You're too kind. Anyway, Potter, you're not my
mother.”
“I know I'm not,” he interjected, “but I can't just idly watch from the
sidelines as you do something you'll regret.”
“Damn you will! Look, Potter, what I do is none of your concern anymore. You
can't change my mind. I have to do this, okay? It's not my choice anymore,
okay?”
“So you are working for Voldemort, aren't you?” Draco didn't answer. Harry
lowered his voice. “Listen, I'm sure Dumbledore will protect you and your
family. He'll keep them safe.”
“Like he kept your parents safe?” Harry's eyes hardened, and Draco couldn't
help but feel a mild satisfaction. He couldn't care about Harry or his
feelings, now. Not when so much was at stake.
“I'm not here to fight, Malfoy,” he said, his voice strained. “If you won't
listen to me, then you'll understand that it is my duty to stop you, and I
will.”
 Draco shook his head in mock disapproval. “Oh, you Gryffindors, so bold and
reckless with your hero complexes. Always charging into battle with your wands
drawn out. It baffles me how many of you keep dropping dead.” He chortled
manically like it was a joke, only it sounded too loud, too  cruel , for that.
Harry said nothing, standing there, seething, as he conspicuously wrapped his
hand around the base of his wand.
 Draco only smirked. “Don't meddle with things you don't understand, young
Padawan,” he said sagely, coaxing a smile from the Gryffindor. When they had
been together, Draco had been subjected to many Muggle movies, and he secretly
enjoyed a few of them. With a sweep of his robe, Draco returned to his
compartment, turning his back on Harry.  Caring is a disadvantage , he mentally
lectured himself,  so stop it. It'll only come back to hurt you – and Mum and
Father – in the end.
                                       *
“The end justifies the means.” was his motto that year. He trained himself to
recognize Harry as an enemy once more, one that stood between his family and
safety. In the end, though, he finally had to come face to face with what he
had known in the beginning: he simply could not kill Dumbledore. He felt a
surge of gratitude embedded in anger and remorse when Snape stepped in for him.
How many more people do I owe?he wondered.
Shock kept him rooted to the ground, immobilized. He couldn't tear his eyes
from Dumbledore's fragile, broken body. How was this the once-great, most
powerful wizard in the world? Snape jerked him by the scruff of his neck,
knocking him out of his stunned stupor, and dragged him out of the door,
fleeing. He ran, ran as fast as his legs would take him, ran away from the
consequences, from Dumbledore's empty corpse, from his life as he knew it. He
felt like nothing but a coward.
                                       ~
They only had three more encounters after that year. The first was, of course,
at the Manor, when Draco had been asked to identify him.
The taller boy flinched when he heard his name, his heart pounding. The leather
cushions released him as he rose from his armchair, walking slowly, elegantly
towards the captives. His gut twisted. and he desperately hoped that they got
him wrong, that it wasn't Potter. Which, of course, it was.
Draco knew before he even saw him. Even though Harry was covered with grime and
Salazar knew how long he'd gone without bathing, Draco knew his ...ex-lover,
was it?,and his scent.
Harry was deliberately avoiding eye contact. Even distorted, his eyes were a
dead giveaway, but you couldn't really expect a filthy werewolf to notice that
sort of thing, could you? Draco stayed behind his father, not wanting to come
closer, afraid his reaction might jeopardize Harry.
Even in times like these, I'm looking out for you, putting you in front of even
my family, Potter, he thought resentfully.
"Well, Draco?" his father prompted. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"
Draco swallowed. "I can't – I can't be sure." Not the truth, but not a denial,
too. Harry released the breath he'd been holding, realizing that Draco was
still slightly on his side.
His father approached Harry, scrutinizing him himself. He called Draco forward
to analyze him again.
Dread filled Draco up as he bent down, lining up his pointy face with Harry's
squarer one. The last time his face was this close... Draco shut that out; he
didn't want to think about it right now.
His father was eager, his face more animated with hope than it had for a long
time. For this to be Harry would mean the Malfoy name re-elevated into its
former status. His father clung to that hope desperately, but Draco didn't want
that. He didn't want to turn in Potter, not even if it would mean reviving his
father's happiness and comfort for his family once again.
He hoped Harry was grateful, but he doubted he was. In the end, Draco would
just be stalling the inevitable, and there was no doubt that the deformed boy
that knelt before him would mark it off as too little, too late.
Harry finally met his eyes, and they looked at each other for a second, an
unspoken understanding occurring between them. It hurt to even look at those
brilliant green eyes and know that they weren't his anymore. Discarded memories
tugged at Draco's mind, bits and pieces of their relationship pelting the
Slytherin like bullets, mortally wounding him and leaving him bleeding on the
ground, staggering as he took his final gasp and collapsing, his pale gray eyes
wide open and his mouth a perfect "O" in surprise – until he finally had to
tear his eyes away.
"I don't know," he said stupidly, retreating to the cold fireplace that hadn't
been in use since the rise of the Dark Lord and the fall of the Malfoys, where
his mother stood with her quick, sharp eyes, noticing everything. Another lie.
His mother stepped up, and Draco was quick to fade into the background,
assimilating himself with the furniture. He stood out like a sore thumb,
however. The furniture was regal, confident, while Draco felt anything but. He
didn't feel like the pompous, high-class Draco Malfoy he was raised to be
anymore; he felt like a prisoner in his own home.
"Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?" his mother addressed him. Draco
snapped back into attention, jumping at the sound of his name. If I confirm
that it's Granger and Weasley, then it'll be a dead giveaway that that's Harry.
"I...maybe...yeah," Draco faltered, not sure what to say, not sure how much to
give away. If he couldn't provide any information, they'd quickly see that he
was deliberately withholding it.
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" his father shouted, overcome with
excitement. Draco winced.
"It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's
son, what's his name – ?" he prompted eagerly, nearly vibrating with
anticipation.
"Yeah," Draco said unhappily, his mouth twisted at the wall. "It could be." He
wasn't sure what else to say. Anything more misleading would make his motives
transparent.
He didn't hear his aunt enter the room, but he flinched when she spoke, chills
running down his spine. He glanced at Harry, who shot him a panicked cry for
help. /If only I could/, Draco thought.
Draco watched helplessly as the dark-haired woman circled the trio dangerously.
He desperately wanted to Apparate from the room entirely, perhaps seizing Harry
last minute; he couldn't stand the tension in the room any longer. The blonde
was paralyzed as his father and his aunt fought, silently pleading for a
miracle.
To his surprise, he got one when his aunt's eyes landed upon the stolen sword.
It was only a temporary one, nevertheless, but if he knew Harry like he knew
Harry, he knew that the Gryffindor was skilled at narrowly escaping the
impossible.
Sure enough, the Gryffindor lived up to Draco's expectations, snatching his
wand, nonetheless. Cheeky bastard, Draco thought sourly. This is what I get for
helping you.
                                       *
Their next meeting was in the Room of Requirement. Draco couldn't help but
think of the times he and Harry spent there as he entered the room, Crabbe and
Goyle two paces behind him. They passed the cabinet that Harry had bent him
over and fucked him on. They were desperately horny that day and only requested
the room for somewhere to fuck, and it had given them this.
There was even one time when they couldn't make the three circles in front of
the wall, and Harry simply got on all fours, Draco pounding into him right
there in the open. They had set up wards, of course, that would alert them when
someone came close, but it had felt so liberating.
 Draco shoved the bittersweet memories out of his head. This was not the time.
He couldn't afford to be soft right now, to put Potter first again; he had a
job to do.
 They followed Harry unnoticed, silently until the boy spotted the diadem.
Draco was only a short stretched behind him when he spoke up.
 “Hold it, Potter.” The boy flinched, spinning around to Draco with his arms
crossed authoritatively, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle's outstretched wands.
 “That's my wand you're holding, Potter,” he said, nodding at it as he stuck
his mum's out. He saw Harry glance down at it and knew that the boy was
remembering the time when Draco had thrusted it up his arse. A light pink crept
up to Draco's cheeks, and he felt a surge of irritation at the warm glow on his
face.
 “Not anymore,” Harry panted, crudely covering up his smirk. “Winners, keepers,
Malfoy,” he added cheekily. “Who's lent you theirs?”
 “My mother,” Draco admitted wryly. A harsh sound vaguely resembling a laugh
came out of Harry's mouth.  Blimey, it shouldn't be like this.
 He watched as Harry slowly inched towards the diadem, attempting to distract
them with light banter at the same time.
 “So how did you get in here?” he asked.
 “I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” Draco said,
his voice rough and hollow as he thought of the previous year. “I know how to
get in.”
 Weasley's voice echoed in the room as he called out to Harry from a distance.
“Harry? Are you talking to someone?” Crabbe jabbed his wand at the huge pile of
discarded, forgotten objects. “ Descendo! ” The pile crashed down, objects
pelting the ground, obstructing the path. Crabbe was going to destroy the
place!
 Draco grabbed the boy's fleshy arm. “No!” he shouted. “If you wreck the room,
you might bury this diadem thing!” He argued with the idiot until Harry,
seizing the opportunity, lunged for the object. Crabbe flicked his wand,
casting the Cruciatus Curse, and missed, sending the diadem flying instead.
 “Stop!” the blonde shouted desperately, his voice echoing. “The Dark Lord
wants him alive –”
 “So? I'm not killing him, am I?” Crabbe yelled defiantly, jerking his arm out
of Draco's grasp. A jet of scarlet light zipped through the air, narrowly
missing Crabbe as Draco pulled him out of the way. Granger. Crabbe, missing as
usual, shot a green streak of light. Harry, enraged, shot a Stunning Spell at
Crabbe, who ducked, knocking the wand out of Draco's hand. It rolled behind a
pile of clutter.
 “Don't kill him!   DON'T KILL HIM!” Draco screamed at his two companions, who
turned around in doubt at the sound of his shrill voice. Harry quickly disarmed
them. Draco crouched behind a n old wardrobe, shielding himself from the
skirmish. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to relieve the tension. The
next thing he knew, the room was on fire.
  Cursing at Crabbe, he grabbed Goyle, dangling limply, by the scruff of his
shirt and ran, Goyle's feet dragging along the ground. Flames lapped at them
from every corner, Herculean, fiery beasts emerging, ambushing them. Billows of
smoke collected, and Draco could feel beads of sweat on his temple, running
down his face. Pulling at Goyle, they climbed upon a heap of rubbish. The
flames came closer, consuming everything in its path. Crabbe was perched up on
a cupboard on top of the next heap, scared.
  A noise, something streaking through the air, prompted Draco to look up and
see two broomsticks whizzing in the air, one with Harry on it and the other
with Granger and Weasley. He could see Harry dipping low, as if he were
searching for something. The diadem, perhaps? Draco didn't dare to allow
himself hope that he was looking for him; the disappointment would kill him
more than the fire would. Crabbe let out a thin shriek, and Draco's head
whipped over, but he had already disappeared. Draco stared at the ground where
Crabbe would've fallen, searching. He felt hollow inside.
  The blonde looked up and noticed a dot whizzing towards him. Harry. He raised
an arm, and Harry grasped at it – electricity sparking between them as their
fingertips touched – but Draco knew that it wouldn't work. His palms were too
sweaty, Harry was going too fast, and Goyle was too heavy. Harry zipped by, his
hand sliding out of Draco's.
  “IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!” the ginger roared, narrowly
avoiding a fiery chimera as it arose, batting at him and Granger with its giant
paw. He dove down, grabbing Goyle's unconscious body and lifting him onto the
broom.
  Harry dipped down again, and Draco leaped onto the broom, involuntarily
holding onto Harry's sides, their bodies pressed up tightly against each other.
He felt Harry catch his breath. It had been a while since they'd been this
close. Draco couldn't help but picture Harry's bare backside.
  “The door, get to the door, the door!” Draco screamed perhaps a bit too
loudly into Harry's ear as he looked up, snapping out of the sexual tension.
This was no time to relive old sexual fantasies. Harry sped up, trailing behind
the other broom, racing through the clouds of thick black smoke. Draco choked,
swallowing more and more smoke with each cough.
  He felt the broom twist around, away from the door, and diving. “What are you
doing, what are you doing, the door's that way!” Draco screamed, panicked. He
peered over Harry's shoulder. The Gryffindor's arm was outstretched, grazing
the falling tiara before he caught it; just because he hadn't played Quidditch
for a year doesn't mean that he ever stopped being a Seeker.
  A fiery serpent arose out of the flames, its jaws snapping at them. They
soared in the air, swerving past its twisting head, towards the door. Weasley,
Granger, and Goyle was nowhere in sight; Draco was hoping that they were
alright but failing at his attempt at optimism.
  He was aware that he was still screaming, and he was clinging on Harry for
dear life. He couldn't see where they were going through the thick smoke and
tightly squeezed his eyes shut, instead. If they were going to die, he didn't
want to know about it. The next thing he knew, he was lying on the hard ground,
face down, breathing clean air. He twitched up, gasping and choking, vomit
spewing out of his mouth. Goyle was on the floor beside the other too, still
blissfully unconscious.
  “C-Crabbe. C-Crabbe...” he gasped out when he finally managed to stop
vomiting, his throat burning and his mouth dry.
  “He's dead,” the ginger said harshly, silencing him. They all sat there, in a
little circle on the ground, spluttering, trying to regain their breath. It was
quite peaceful, actually, until a number of bangs broke the silence, their
impact so powerful that the whole castle rocked. The three Gryffindors leaped
to their feet, suddenly remembering the circumstances, and pulling out their
wands, they rushed into battle, leaving Draco behind, wandless, with an
unconscious Goyle.
                                       *
  The last time Draco saw Harry was five years later, when they were both
twenty-two. He had requested to meet with the Auror, to tell him of his
upcoming arranged marriage. They had sat across from each other at a table in
the Leaky Cauldron, awkwardly sipping their Firewhiskeys before Draco finally
broke the silence.
  “I'm getting married,” he said bluntly. There was a pause as Harry absorbed
the true meaning of his words before finally saying “Congratulations. Pass it
on to the lucky lady...er, or lad.” he said uncertainly.
  “It's to Astoria Greengrass. It's an arranged marriage,” he went on to
explain. “It'll benefit both our families. The Greengrasses are a meek,
insignificant pureblood family with a large sum of money. However, Astoria is
their sole heir, and their line will die with her. That's where the Malfoys
come in.”
  Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, well, er, I wish you a happy
marriage to Miss Greengrass, all the same.” he finally said.
  There was a pregnant pause as both men knocked back their Firewhiskeys before
Harry spoke up again.
  “I'm getting married, too.” he said. “That is, I proposed to Ginny a couple
months ago, and we're tying the knot this summer.”
  “That's wonderful,” Draco said flatly, his voice sounding far from wonderful.
What did he expect, that Harry would wait for him forever, growing old alone?
Still, Ginny...
  An unspoken question lingered in the air: Aren't you supposed to be gay?
Draco rifled through his head, trying to find a polite way to phrase it, before
giving up. The two men sat there in silence with no more Firewhiskey to drink.
  Neither man invited the other to their wedding.
                                       ~
  Draco sighed back in his office, reminiscing. He picked up his wand and
flipped it over to its metal base. The Wizarding world had embraced the Muggle
idea of mobile phones; they were so much more convenient than any other form of
communication, especially on-the-go. Yet, like all things, their version was
better.
  There was a chip installed in the base of the wand, allowing the user to
speak the name into they wished to call into the wand and projecting a small
holographic screen of the recipient, who could accept or decline the call. Some
more prominent figures, like Harry himself, required a password before the call
would be directed. Yet, while Draco didn't know for sure what Harry's was, he
knew how the man thought.
  “Harry James Potter,” Draco spoke into the wand, crisply enunciating his
words. Like the old Floo Network, it was easy for the wand to dial a “Henry
Jake Porter” instead. Draco paused.
  “Hedwig,” he finally said. The wand beeped, signaling that the call was being
made. Draco gave a brief sigh of relief; he'd guessed right. Harry's face
appeared projected on the screen.
  “Oh, hello, Draco,” he said, surprised.
  “Potter, I've been thinking about where we left things, and I do think that,
after nineteen years – not counting that one time when we were in our early
twenties, of course – it's time for a reconciliation. Are you free, now?” he
asked.
  “Now? Sure, why not? Third floor, first room,” he said before giving Draco
the coordinates. The blonde Apparated into Harry's office.
  An frail-looking House elf walked in and offered Draco a Firewhiskey, which
he accepted before double-taking.
  “Blimey, I knew House elves lived long, but I didn't know they lived this
long! Kreacher, do you remember me?” he addressed the shriveled House elf. The
old elf looked up, his big eyes looking comical in the middle of his baggy
face.
  “Good day, Master Draco,” he croaked, bowing out of the room. Draco looked
back up to Harry, who was looking at him inquisitively.
  “He stayed at the Manor for a while in our fifth-year, and I was instructed
to treat him fairly,” he answered the unspoken question innocently.
  Harry snorted. “Of course you did.” They both took a swig of their
Firewhiskey.
  “So, how are the kids? James, Lily, and um...” he trailed off, unable to
recall the name of Harry's other son.
  “Albus,” Harry supplied him. “He just started school. I received a call from
him yesterday night, slightly distraught about being sorted into Slytherin.”
  A smile slid onto the blonde's face. “That's a keeper, that one. Although,
you can't really chose, now, can you? Scorpius will have good company, then. My
son, that is,” he added awkwardly.
  “Yes, how is your son?”
  “Oh, he's doing well. Mind you, he's nothing like me. Something you're sure
to be glad of,” Draco said casually, teasing the other man a little.
  “That's too bad, then. You're not bad, after all,” the brunette said quietly.
Draco looked up at him staring across at him. They looked at each other, a
wordless conversation traveling between them. After all these years, Harry's
eyes still had the same affect on him.   They're like little pools of light  ,
Draco thought, his mind drifting back to their teenaged years. He shook his
head, mentally pushing it aside.
  Draco cleared his throat, not breaking the stare. “Listen, Potter, about why
I came today. I've been thinking about our history, and I don't think we
deserved to end it like we did.” He meant the nineteen years of total
separation, but Harry interpreted it differently.
  “Draco,” he sighed, sounding like a beaten man. “I know we have some
unresolved feelings for each other – well, I know I do; I'm assuming you do
too, but...” he trailed off, unsure of where he was going with this.
  Draco blanched. “Er, actually, I was speaking of the nineteen years without
any sort of contact whatsoever...” he said awkwardly.
  “Oh. Right,” Harry said just as awkwardly. The two men took another
synchronized swig of Firewhiskey, echoing their last true encounter.
  “But, no, you're right, Harry. I suppose that's why we had to isolate
ourselves from one another. Because of all the undeniable chemistry between us.
Do you ever think about the possibilities? Of what could've happened between
us?” Draco said softly. His gray eyes pierced into Harry's intrusively until
the Auror had to look away.
  Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “Harry, now, am I? Not Potter?” He
gave an unsteady laugh, trying to make light of the situation before growing
serious. “We're not teenagers anymore, Draco. We can't just throw everything
away and restart; we've both got a wife and kids. What will Astoria say?”
  “Astoria and I have an arrangement. We both do whatever we want behind closed
doors, no questions asked. Right now, she's fucking Zabini. Mind you, so was I,
but I broke it off a couple weeks ago because it got too weird. I told you,
Potter; there's nothing between us. I mean, she's pretty enough, but I'm gay.”
He hesitated before saying the next part. “And so are you.”
  It was out in the open, now – the unspoken question from fourteen years ago.
Harry took a deep breath and opened his mouth.
  “I know,” he admitted finally, to himself, to Draco, to the world again.
  “Does Ginny know?” Harry could feel the blonde across from him watching him,
his gray eyes trained on his face, more forward than any reporter he had ever
encountered, save maybe Rita Skeeter.
  “No.”
  “How do you live with it?” Harry cringed at the question.     How did he live
with it?
  “I don't know,” he said with a wry smile. “I just pretend that I'm not, I
guess. I try and forget about it?”
  “And does it work?” Draco asked sharply. The corner of Harry's mouth
twitched, but he didn't answer. Draco knew the answer, anyway, and for some
reason that he couldn't name specifically, it infuriated him.
  “You mean to tell me that the great   Harry Potter   has been living in the
closet for all these years because he's too   ashamed   of who he really is?!”
  “I'm not ashamed!” Harry said defensively. “I just can't hurt Ginny like
that, that's all. She doesn't deserve it, and neither do the kids.”
  “I never thought that I'd be having this conversation with you, of all
people. And you deserve it?” Draco asked flatly, arching his eyebrow. Silence.
Harry squirmed in his chair, clutching his Firewhiskey.
  Draco stood up to leave. “Denial isn't a good look on anyone, Potter, not
even you,” he said, his eyes traveling slowly down Harry's body. Harry shivered
slightly under his stare, which didn't go unnoticed.   How could a stare be so
sensual?   He hadn't ever felt like this with Ginny, or Cho, or any other
female. Only Draco.
  With a dramatic sweep of his robe that could only be described as in-
character, Draco Apparated away. Harry sighed, pressing his hand against his
temple. With a simple visit, the blonde had opened up the great Pandora's box
that Harry had struggled to keep pressed shut all these years. Now, there was
no going back. He just wondered how he was ever going to tell Ginny.
                                       *
  Harry awoke alone, the other half of the bed cold and unslept in. Feeling
around for his glasses, his hands came into contact with something squishy on
his bedside table instead. Frowning, he slid on his glasses and glanced over,
freezing. Next to where his glasses had been was a single Extendable Ear, along
with a strip of parchment messily scrawled on in Ginny's handwriting. “  We
need to talk.”   it read.
  Harry sighed, wishing he could go back to bed. Ron was going to kill him. He
hoped that Ginny didn't tell him yet. While he was his best friend, Ron was
still an overprotective older brother who was willing to murder anyone that
stomped on his younger sister's feelings.   And so was George, and Percy, and
Charlie, and Bill  , Harry thought, groaning.   Well, maybe not Charlie. He
might be more lenient, being gay and all  , he amended, shuddering at the sight
of Charlie and his heavily-muscular arms from working with dragons. Harry was
in for a long run.
  He picked up his wand, the one he used since he was eleven, flipping it over
to its metal base. While he certainly had some calls to make, there was one
that stood out from all the rest. He pointed the end of his wand at his mouth
as said clearly into it “Draco Lucius Malfoy”
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